Criminal
by Lacadiva
Summary: Elizabeth and Neal are wounded in a botched jewelry store heist. Peter thinks it's all Neal's fault…after all, he's a Criminal...
1. Chapter 1

CRIMINAL

by

Lacadiva

Rating: PG-13 for violence.

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me, but to Jeff Eastin and USA Network.

_Summary: Elizabeth and Neal are shot in a jewelry heist. Peter thinks Caffrey is to blame. After all, he is a criminal…_

_~WC~_

He demanded the Paramedics tend to Elizabeth first. The threatening look in is wild, concerned eyes made it clear just what kind of fresh hell the young medics would suffer if they dared deny is request.

They worked fast, saying little in response as Peter continued to bombard them with urgent questions.

"Please, sir, step back and let us do our work," one of them firmly pleaded and quickly resumed the work of shouting out the dark haired woman's vitals.

Peter stepped back obediently but reluctantly – this was the professional…no, right thing to do. He could do nothing to help Elizabeth at the moment. This wasn't his purview.

He noticed shattered glass that once provided crystal clear protection to showcases once filled with such bejeweled items as earrings, cuff links and watches. Now it littered the floor in thousands of tiny shards and fine white powder that crunched loudly under his feet.

Strange, he thought; the things you notice when under stress. When someone you loved could be dying.

This was an image that would forever be branded into his memory: Sweet Elizabeth laying unconscious upon the cold tile floor of the upscale jewelry store. Beside her, close to her, Neal also laid bleeding and fighting desperately to speak, to breathe.

_Holding El's hand. _

A second emergency medical team raced in bumping past Peter unapologetically to attend to Neal. The EMTs gently repositioned the man's body away from Elizabeth, breaking their contact. They opened his shirt, cutting it away quickly. The fine linen was wet, heavy and saturated with his blood. His skin was stained and shiny-slick around the wound.

No. _Wounds_…plural…Peter noticed now. Two bullet wounds. He winced involuntarily.

Sympathy and empathy wrapped around his heart, threatening to move him to feel something for the man he once happily called his friend and partner. He fought the sentimentality rising up in his mind. That would only feed his already serious case of myopia when it came to Neal Caffrey. He had to stand firm.

Neal Caffrey was a criminal. And this is what criminals did. Create havoc. Spread sorrow. Engender grief, chaos, confusion and loss. They take that which they do not deserve and leave others bereft, without.

The medics at Neal's side worked faster and more frantically than those with Elizabeth. It was more than apparent that Neal's condition was far worst than his wife's.

'Good,' Peter thought angrily, teeth grinding. The reason she lay upon the floor with paramedics bandaging her arm, checking her pupils, calling her name was, by all appearances, the fault of none other than Neal Caffrey.

The EMTs began shouting orders at one another, cursing as dark blood oozed profusely from Neal's wounds when they attempted to search for exit wounds. Neal cried out, begging them not to move him again. They quickly corrected their misstep and fought against time to stabilize their patient. Neal's eyes opened wide as if he'd seen some vision of heaven, or, more likely, thought Peter, a glimpse of the hell that awaited him for his life of crime. Then, he fell unconscious. It scared the agent to see anyone endure such physical pain.

Peter felt a moment of guilt struggle against his anger, but left the moment to address later when he heard a voice behind him.

"Peter."

Jones was suddenly at Peter's side. Before the Agent could speak, Peter said, "I want to see surveillance videos, inside the store and out. I want every inch of this place dusted, every inch of it, and…"

"We're working on it, Peter," Jones assured him.

"I want to know everything that happened from the moment my wife walked into this store. And pull every bit of tracking data, for the last two weeks, on Neal's anklet. I want to know every street he walked down, every threshold he crossed and every person he spoke to."

"Is Elizabeth going to be okay?"

"She'd better be," Peter said between clenched teeth. "For Neal's sake."

"What do you need?"

Peter looked Jones in the eyes. "I need you to find out what happened here. Don't talk to me until you know. And find Mozzie," he said, as if the sound of Mozzie's name brought additional pain. "If this scam of Neal's went sour, he's probably on the run."

"You don't think…? Peter, this doesn't look like Caffrey's style," Jones ventured cautiously.

"Until I know better, Caffrey's the reason my wife is lying on the floor unconscious."

"How bad is he?" Jones asked, gesturing towards Neal.

"Not as bad as he'll be when I'm finished with him. Get this place cleared out and let's get to work."

"We've got it. Trust us. Go to the hospital with El. We'll call you the minute we know anything."

Peter nodded. He appreciated Jones more than he could say at that moment. As the Paramedics raced the gurney carrying Elizabeth to the store's exit, Peter followed closely.

Jones watched as the medics then placed Caffrey upon a gurney, I.V.'s in his arms, blood covering a good deal of him, and carried him away.

The Agent breathed in a deep ragged breath. It didn't look good.

~WC~

A FEW HOURS LATER

Surely this was the bottom. This was devastation, the very depth of its meaning. Ruination, hopelessness, destruction. His heart had been leveled…

Peter Burke could barely breathe. His eyes burned, his chest hurt, his empty, acid-filled stomach churned. He sat wringing his bloodstained, blood-sticky hands until the skin beneath the stain began to feel raw. Anything to amplify the magnitude of his pain to avoid the thoughts in his head.

_A better man, a better husband, would have protected his wife. A better man, a stronger man, would have seen the signs and taken action immediately. _

_A better man…_

So much guilt and self-accusation.

_A better man, a smarter man, would have realized the depth of trouble Neal Caffrey represented and banished him from his life long before things got out of hand._

Things could not be more out of hand than this, he mused.

Somewhere beyond those double doors, his wife lay bleeding on a table. He didn't know how bad it was, couldn't see the wound. He was pulled away from her so quickly once they arrived the hospital that he had no time, no opportunity to see for himself.

And no one had talked to him. Not yet.

How had this happened? What was she doing in that jewelry story in the middle of the day, the middle of her workday? They had sat at the breakfast table hours early that morning and traded portions of the paper and chatted about the mountains of work waiting for both of them at their respective jobs. Talked about it over his favorite cereal, great coffee and those little chunks of melon El had loved so much and demanded he eat more often.

Elizabeth never made mention of going to or needing anything from a ritzy jewelry store. It wasn't her style. It was not a client, as far as he knew, or a potential client. She would have told him if such a place had contacted her for event planning. Instead, he gets the call he never wanted to hear: that his wife was hurt and in danger…that there had been a robbery. Shots had been fired. He would never be able to shake from his mind's eye the image of her lying on the floor and bleeding, as he stepped over the threshold.

And Neal, bleeding profusely, gone pale, lips quivering as he tried spit out some lie, spin the truth into a plausible excuse to keep himself from going back to jail.

"Sorry…" was all Peter could understand. And then Neal lost consciousness.

Peter was positive Neal was guilty, guilty as sin. Had to be.

After all, Peter reminded himself once again, Neal Caffrey was a _criminal_.

Criminal. The word reverberated in his head. Criminal. And the greatest crime he had committed was fooling Peter into believing he could ever be reformed, or trusted, or be a friend.

He was a criminal, and it was clearly Neal's fault Elizabeth was there with him when the robbery went down. It had to be Neal's fault. What business would El have there unless Neal had concocted some plan to steal something and had tried to use El to accomplish the con?

And now Peter's wife would pay for Neal's folly.

Peter's stomach turned at the thought. How could he be so wrong, so easily fooled and finessed by his C.I.? Neal spoke the language of lies like no other. Deflect. Steal. Cheat, obfuscate, inveigle, use, abuse.

Criminal.

Guilt and responsibility taunted him – he should have stayed at the crime scene and lead the investigation. No good agent worthy of his badge would leave a fluid situation, a crime scene still hot with fresh clues and evidence, proof and DNA. But he reminded himself that Jones was there. Diana would be there, too. They wouldn't let anything fall through the cracks. They would report to him before the night was over and present him with the very evidence that would convict Caffrey and put him away for the rest of his thieving life.

They were through, he and Neal. Next stop, prison. Solitary confinement at Ryker's, if he had his way.

He wanted to feel relief at the thought, but all Peter could feel was sad. Sad that all his efforts did so little to rehabilitate the criminal. Sad that he had extended his hand in friendship, and this was his payback.

Lies, plots, schemes, cons…

"Agent Burke?"

Peter stood up so fast his head swam.

"My wife…how is she?" Peter's own voice sounded hollow in his ears. What if…what would he do if…

"She's fine," the Doctor said.

The words did not register with Peter at first.

"She's fine?"

"She's awake, alert, and asking for you."

Gratitude welled up in Peter so hard and fast that he thought he'd explode.

"The bullet wound was superficial," the doctor said, continuing. "She'll have the tiniest scar on her right upper arm."

"But…she was unconscious. And there was so much blood…her dress…her hands…"

"She lost consciousness from a bump on the head. That gave us more cause to worry, but as I said, she's conscious. She'll have quite a headache, and perhaps a little trouble remembering the incident, but she'll be fine."

"Can I see her?"

"Shortly. We're prepping a room for her right now. We'd like to keep her for a few hours, make sure everything's good."

"Of course," Peter coughed out. "That's just…that's just great."

"A nurse will let you know when your wife is all situated. Are you okay, Agent Burke?"

"Yeah," Peter said quickly. "It's just…all that blood. I thought she…it looked as if…"

"Apparently most of it wasn't hers. Your forensics team will no doubt be able to sort it all out."

"Yes. Thank you, Doctor."

As the doctor walked away, it occurred to Peter to ask, "What about the man she came in with. Neal Caffrey…any word on his condition?"

"I'll ask the nurse to check for you. Why don't you just sit down, relax. I'm sure everything will work out fine."

Peter nodded, and took the Doctor's advice. He breathed deeply, gratefully.

Elizabeth was going to be okay.

Peter stood, stretched, located a men's room sign and followed it. He washed the dried blood from his hands and tried not to think about it as evidence being washed away. Once done, he followed a smiling nurse to a bank of elevators, and rode two floors up and took the long walk to the south wing where Elizabeth was resting.

She looked his way and beamed the moment he cracked open the door.

"Hi, hun," she said quietly.

"Hi, hun," he said with a shaky voice. He went to the bed and took her hand, kissed it.

Before he could ask, she said, "I'm fine. I my head hurts, but I'm fine."

"Your arm…you were shot..."

She turned to look at the small white bandage on her arm. "The doctor said it's just a scratch. I barely feel it. If I don't move it…"

Peter nodded, but he didn't believe her. She looked so frail and tiny in the hospital bed. But she also looked radiant and warm and…

"Tell what you remember," he said. It was more a demand than a request. He needed to know.

"Honestly," she said, "it's all kind of a blur. I can't remember much of anything. I remember having breakfast with you…"

"You don't remember anything that happened before you lost consciousness? The jewelry store? The robbery…"

"The doctors said I might have a little trouble remembering things at first. It hurts just thinking…"

"Then stop thinking," Peter said, gently stroking her hair. "Just rest."

"Only if you promise not to worry."

"Can't promise you that," he said honestly.

"Wait…" Memory stirred, making her look up to the ceiling. She searched the off white tiles until she found an image and put a name to it."

"Neal…"

"What do you remember?" He was anxious to hear, anxious to know. Anxious to indict.

"I remember Neal…he was hurt. Sweet heart…"

Peter tried to calm her, touching her face, holding her hand.

"Is he all right?"

Peter said nothing at first. Resentment flared hotly in his chest. Why is she so concerned? How could she be so concerned for the man who was responsible for her being there?

"Peter, please tell me he's okay…that he's not…"

"He's not dead, El. At least he wasn't…I don't know anything yet."

"Then you have to go check."

"Neal will be fine. Neal is always fine."

"This isn't like you!"

"I was much more concerned about you!"

"I'm fine. The doctor said so. You need to check on Neal! You need to…oh…oh boy…"

"El!"

"It's nothing, just a little dizzy…"

"You're getting yourself all worked up!"

"You think? Go to Neal. He needs you."

"But you need me. Neal is…"

"I'm not talking to you until you talk to Neal."

Elizabeth adamantly turned her head and readjusted in the hospital bed, as if preparing to sleep.

"El?"

She did not answer.

"I'll be back."

She turned to him smiling now. "I'll be here."

~WC~

He found the Duty Nurse. According to the chart she found upon the desk, Neal was resting in post-op.

"What's his condition?" Peter asked.

"Are you family?"

Peter showed his badge.

Moments later, after successful negotiations with the Duty Nurse, and a promise that he would keep his visit short, Peter stepped into the room where unconscious Neal lay attached to monitors, I.V.s, and all manner of unidentifiable medical equipment.

Neal was only partially covered. Thick white bandages stained with blood, Betadine and other fluids were wrapped around his midsection. According to the monitors, the nurse had told him, Neal was in stable condition. He would pull through, but it would be a slow and painful processes.

It hurt to see him this way. Those bright blue eyes shut, lids swollen, his dark hair matted with sweat and splayed about his forehead and the pillow. The paleness of his complexion…the fluids being pumped into his wounded body….

Peter pulled up a chair, close to the bed and sat for a moment. He listened to the steady percussive beats of the various monitors, keeping time with Neal's vitals. Keeping time with his life. Peter took a deep breath.

"Neal…"

He'd heard that people could still hear sometimes, even when unconscious. He wasn't sure he wanted Neal to hear what he had to say, but he knew he had to say it.

" Neal…how do I say this? I want you to know…I want you to know that, as of right now, we're through. It's over. This friendship, this partnership arrangement. You put my wife…MY WIFE…in jeopardy for the last time. She could've died today. And I would've…. I don't know what kind of something-for-nothing, hair-brained scheme you tried to pull this time…but you used my wife. She cared about you, more than you'll ever understand or deserve. And you used her. You betrayed her trust, you put her in harm's way. And your little con backfired.

"So here you are, an inch away from life support…and I don't care. I feel nothing for you, Neal. Nothing."

Peter looked away, as if Neal could see his reddening face, see the lie.

"No more Sunday dinners. No more coffee chitchats or stakeouts. That full immunity thing? Considered it revoked. Protecting you is the stupidest thing I've ever done. You don't need protection. It's time to take responsibility for all the pain, all the suffering you've generated these past five years. It's over, Neal. _Over_.

"You're a criminal, Neal. I let myself forget that. I was beguiled by your intelligence, your enthusiasm. Your likability. I forgot…you're a conman. Conmen know how to trick people into liking them, trusting them. You sure did a job on me. I fell for it. Hook, line and sinker. Walked right into it. Trusted you. Made you family. Considered you a friend. You must have been laughing at me the whole time. No more.

"You're a criminal. From now on, that's exactly how you're going to be treated. You deserve whatever you get from this. If I have my way, you'll never see the light of day or breath fresh air again. As soon as I get confirmation of your complicity from Jones and Barrigan, I will slap the cuffs on you myself. Then, I can finally rest. That's all."

Peter rose and lingered. The words seemed harsh, especially in light of Neal's helpless condition. But he did what he needed to do. Said what he needed to say. Now the process would begin to sever his deal with the Justice Department and return Neal to prison, where he belonged. Better to just rip the bandage off.

He thought he saw Neal's hand move, but realized quickly it was probably just an autonomic response, an involuntary muscle reaction because of the I.V. needle in his arm.

Peter headed for the door, relieved that he had said all that he had to say, grateful to get this behind him so that he could move forward, move on. Life without Neal Caffrey was going to be…different.

He turned a looked one last time at unconscious Neal, then left.

If he had looked closer, he may have noticed the single tear streaming down Neal's pale cheek.

END CHAPTER ONE

Thanks for reading! If you were moved at all, I hope you will kindly review. Chapter two will be up in a few days.

Thanks.


	2. Chapter 2

CRIMINAL

Chapter 2

by

Lacadiva

Rating: PG-13 for violence.

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me, but to Jeff Eastin and USA Network.

_Summary: Elizabeth and Neal are shot in a jewelry heist. Peter thinks Caffrey is to blame. After all, he is a criminal…_

Chapter Two

~WC~

New York Presbyterian Hospital

3:39 PM

As much as Peter wanted to return to Elizabeth's side, he needed to take a detour before going back to her room. He stopped by a hospital coffee shop a couple floors below ICU and bought the largest black coffee they could brew and pour. Then he stood by a clouded window and watched as the sun began to lose some of its luster upon his beloved city. The coffee, though freshly made, according to the perky young barista, tasted tepid and bitter in his mouth and sat sourly in his tense, empty stomach.

Peter could not help but replay in his mind the speech he'd just unleashed upon his C.I. The words were potent and harsh…

"…_we're through. No more coffee chit chats, no more stakeouts…no more Sunday dinners…you're a criminal."_

…but necessary.

It had to be done, he determined, strengthening his resolve with another sip of bad coffee. Now he had to go and face El and tell her all that had transpired. He knew she would protest – she was always faithfully sympathetic towards Neal – but she would eventually come to agree with her husband's decision. He still had to get an official statement from her. Perhaps by now a few of the day's murky events were starting to coalesce and –

Peter felt a subtle but insistent vibration in his jacket pocket and realized his cell was ringing.

"This is Burke."

"Boss, we have the surveillance footage. They're being transferred for viewing as we speak."

"Thanks, Diana. I'm on my way back. I want to take a look at them myself."

~WC~

FBI WHITE COLLAR DIVISION

4:15 PM

He sat in the bureau's conference room, door closed, though the glass walls and windows still made him feel as if he were sitting inside a fishbowl. He played with a pencil anxiously and stared at the FBI shield against the royal blue background on the flat screen, waiting impatiently for Diana to deliver the digital copies of the surveillance videos.

His mind was consumed with thoughts of El back in the hospital alone, and all the possibilities and dark scenarios the video images might soon reveal. He already knew what he would be duty bound to do in light of irrefutable evidence against his C.I.; still, the inevitability made his gut ache.

Neal had to be dealt with. It was Peter's responsibility to see to Caffrey's return to prison, to serve time for his crimes. It was Peter's fault for trusting Neal and now things had finally hit bottom…

"Boss…"

Diana entered the room with the freshly opened case file, holding a disk slightly aloft.

"Have you seen it?" Peter asked.

"I gave it a cursory look. If you want my assessment…"

Peter reached stiffly for the remote control while Diana inserted the video into the DVD player.

"He's guilty, isn't he?"

"Peter…"

"I had such faith in that kid…"

"Peter…just watch the footage," she insisted.

Diana hit play, then sat beside him, hoping he'd find some comfort in proximity.

Peter could only shake his head as he waited for the images to assault him. Betrayal was like a knife, and the wound it created ran painfully deep.

The silent, static blue-gray surveillance video image that popped up on the screen was divided into four parts, four distinct and separate quadrants of Fonseca Jewelers' interior and exterior.

Camera one showed the owner and jeweler, Damien Fonseca spritzing the display case and polishing it to a high shine.

Camera two was a soft-focused fish-eyed view of the street just outside the store and showed nothing more interesting than the occasional swift-walking passerby, loud public bus or New York Taxi.

Camera three showed no movement, only a shot of the high-tech wall safe in the office in the background and several display cases in the foreground. Hot lights made the video image too soft and too bright to discern what might be inside the cases.

Lastly, camera four revealed pretty much the same as Camera 3, but from a different angle, closer to the office.

"Notice anything yet?" asked Diana.

Peter's eyes squinted as he tried to see what she had seen.

A dull, cold shiver ran down Peter's spine, and his gut clench painfully as he watched Neal enter, check his watch and then – quite uncomfortably – step up to the display counter…as if he knew he shouldn't have been there…

"Here we go," Peter said just under his breath.

~WC~

FONSECA JEWELERS

10:13 AM

Neal stepped inside the jewelry store and felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, even as soft bells chimed over his head. He was surrounded by many fine pieces of jewelry, though not the most expensive in all Manhattan. Fonseca's was not exactly Harry Winston. Still, if Peter were to pull the tracking data on his anklet, he mused, the agent would probably have a mild coronary. There was no way Neal could adequately explain his presence to Peter without ruining the entire plan.

With one hand in his pocket (as if to remind himself to keep out of trouble), he offered the other to shake the hand of the jeweler as he introduced himself – first name only – and gave his most winning smile.

"How can I help you today?" Fonseca asked congenially.

"I'm waiting for someone. Beautiful, dark hair, blue eyes…"

"Aren't we all?" the jeweler joked. "Either you're talking about yourself, or Mrs. Burke."

"Have I missed her?"

"Not at all. You're actually my very first customer today. You're not Mr. Burke…?"

"Oh, no," Neal laughed, a hand to his tie knot, "I'm just a close family friend. She asked me to meet her here..."

Neal noticed the front door. There should have been a security guard. He gestured toward the unprotected door. "Your guard taking a smoke break?"

"He had some kind of emergency. His wife is apparently having a difficult pregnancy. A replacement is on the way. I apologize for the inconvenience, but we haven't had an "incident" in nearly a decade."

Suspicion rose up in Neal's gut like a thorny branch threatening to pierce and strangle his insides. Before he could voice his disconcerting thought, bells chimed signifying that someone new was entering the store. Both men looked to the door as Elizabeth entered hurriedly.

"Sorry I'm late, Neal," she offered quickly as apology, throwing up her arms up and letting them slap hard against her sides. She gave Neal an awkward hug. "I usually walk everywhere, and the one morning I try to get a cab…"

Neal nodded understandingly. "Not a problem," he said. "Peter isn't expecting me for another thirty minutes or so."

"Great! Thank you so much for doing this for me!"

Elizabeth turned to Fonseca. "Can we see them?"

Fonseca smiled, quite proud of himself and said, "It's been a long time since anyone's given me a challenge as unique as this one."

The jeweler placed a dark blue velvet tray on the countertop, upon which lay a set of antique cufflinks.

"Nice," Neal commented, an eyebrow raising has he admired the obvious workmanship, and considered how good they'd look on his own favorite ivory silk shirt. "Very nice."

"Do you really think so?" Elizabeth asked, excitement bubbling within her. "Take a closer look at them. Go on."

Neal looked curiously at El, then at Fonseca. "What am I looking for?"

"Mr. Fonseca specializes in recreating matches for lost items. One of these cufflinks belonged to Peter's grandfather. He adored the man. When Peter turned eighteen, his grandfather gave them to him. Sometime after we were married, Peter lost the match, but held onto the other for sentimental reasons. I was pondering what I could give him for our anniversary this year. I wanted it to be special…

"…and you remembered the cufflinks," said Neal.

"They meant the world to Peter. I asked Mr. Fonseca to use his expertise to create a matching cufflink…"

"…and you want me see if I can tell the difference," Neal finished.

Mr. Fonseca offered Neal a monocular. "Mrs. Burke says you have a good eye for determining authenticity. Please, see if you can tell the original from the recreation."

Neal smiled, loving the challenge. He held the monocular and leaned down to inspect the cufflinks. He mumbled, praising the quality of the work, accurately assessing the year the cufflinks were made (which impressed Fonseca), the origin of the gold and diamonds (which further impressed Fonseca), and finally surrendered the viewing instrument back to the owner.

"This one is the original," Neal said, pointing to the cufflink on the right. "The match, however, is nearly flawless. Excellent work. Almost had me fooled. And that's not easy. To the naked eye, even a trained one, the recreation is a perfect match."

Fonseca placed a hand upon his chest and gave a slight but humble bow. El beamed, delighted and relieved that her idea had played out so well.

"Do you think Peter will like them? El asked.

"I think he'll absolutely love them," said Neal.

"Thank you for lending your expertise," Fonseca said.

El brushed a piece of imaginary fluff from Neal's lapel – a safe way to touch him and communicated her pride in her husband's CI. "I figured if it could pass the Neal test…"

"What exactly is it you do, Neal?" Fonseca asked.

Before Neal could forge a plausible answer, bells above the door tinkled again. All three turned to look.

Neal knew a beat before the others that something horrible was about to go down, and that it would more than likely end bloody.

~WC~

"Boss…what do you see?"

Peter hit pause on the remote control and regarded the frozen images as closely as he could.

"I see my soon-to-be-former CI surrounded by lots and lots of catnip…"

"Neal doesn't look particularly interested."

"He's a master at deflection."

"There's something significant missing from this picture. Rewind it back a few frames and watch Neal for a moment."

Peter complied, and began a running commentary, like a sports reporter calling the play-by-play in a football game in his head as he analyzed every move and nuance Caffrey made:

_Neal appears uncomfortable…hands in his pocket…looks around the store….is he casing the place? He seems impatient...or distracted...notices something odd…seems genuinely concerned, maybe even a little scared..._

"What's he saying to the jeweler?" he asked aloud. "Why don't surveillance tapes use audio?"

"Right to privacy," Diana answered quickly.

"I know, Diana. I'm just saying… We need to get a lip reader in here."

Peter ran the video back again and watched Neal's lips as best he could.

"Something about...it looks like he said..."

"Where's the security guard?"

"Is that what he said?"

"No, I'm saying there's no security guard on the door."

"There's no guard," Peter echoed. "Where's the store security guard? What do we know about him?"

Diana flipped the case file open and pulled out a photocopy of a thick-necked man's New York driver's license file picture.

"According to the Jeweler, Mr. Fonseca, the guard, one Joseph Gordon Thunderburk, claimed to have received an emergency call shortly after opening. He left despite Fonseca's threats to have him fired. Fonseca said in his initial statement he was waiting for the security agency to send a replacement…"

"…and then Neal conveniently arrives once the guard exits. Neal arranged the fake emergency call, didn't he?"

"I don't think that's what happened."

Peter waited for an explanation.

"Fonseca doesn't seem to think Neal was involved."

"Fonseca didn't see anything. He locked himself in the office..."

"Because Neal told him to, to protect him."

"And you don't think that's a little convenient?"

"I don't know, boss," Diana capitulated. "I just think Neal isn't…

"Do we have a twenty on the guard?" Peter asked.

"Jones is on it."

Peter resumed watching.

"Wait…" Peter said quickly, almost breathlessly, nearly leaping from his chair but holding himself back. "There's El."

The running commentary in his head urgently resumed.

_She slaps her arms against her sides…seen that before a thousand times…she's frustrated…she was late meeting him…what could he need her to do? Was he using her as a smoke screen? Maybe a shield, or distraction? Oh wait, there it is, that smile…that big, cheesy, beguiling, distracting Neal Caffrey smile that makes you think everything's good, everything's great, while his hands are reaching into your pockets to rob you blind. He wants to hug her…she accepts… _

"Hm…"

"What?" asks Diana.

"What? Nothing."_  
><em>

Peter shifted uncomfortably in his seat, hoping Diana would make no further note of his moment of insecurity.

_The hug is quick…chaste and friendly… not the hug of a woman having an affair…that's my girl. _

_El…what has all this to do with you? Fonseca moves out of the frame…wait, what is that he's showing them…?_

Jones entered hastily. "We've got a line on the security guard. Surveillance cameras pegged him at J.F.K. thirty minutes ago trying to buy a ticket to Cancun with his wife's credit card. TSA is holding him for us."

"Let's get him in here. Figure out his connection to Neal."

Jones nodded quickly and left.

"Boss," Diana said, a little cautiously, "I'm not sure there is a connection."

Peter sat back, only mildly willing to entertain his agent's assessment.

She resumed play and Peter locked his eyes once again upon the screen.

_Neal is studying the object…objects…can't tell what's there…earrings? Why would Neal be looking at earrings…unless his intention is to steal them? Use El to cover his tracks…_

_Someone just entered the store. They notice. _

_They're terrified. _

Peter felt the blood rushing from his head, and the room was suddenly quite cold.

_Two men…guns…hand gun, shot gun…faces covered… aiming at Neal, El and Fonseca…_

_And Neal...wait!_

"WAIT!" Peter shouted. Run it back, run it back!"

Diana quickly reversed the image.

"Right there!" shouted Peter. "Stop it! Now, put it in slow motion."

He leaped to his feet to stand in front of the screen. Diana joined him. They watched as El, Fonseca and Neal faced the gunmen…

"Watch Neal. Blink and you'll miss it."

Even in slow motion the movement is slick, quick and barely detectable, unless you know what to look for. Peter always knew what to look for.

Neal's video gray image reaches for the items on the blue velvet tray, and in one swift, fluid motion, he palms them. Then without missing a beat, he drops them in to El's slightly open purse.

"Right there!"

"Missed that the first time," Diana confessed.

"Neal just used my wife as his unwitting accomplice. He's going to pay for this."

"What about the gunmen?"

"Maybe Neal hired them as a distraction. Paid them to rob the place."

They watch as the gunmen threaten Neal, El and the Jeweler.

"So why would they shoot Neal?"

"The plan got away from him. Maybe the thugs decided they wanted a little more. Look…what's he doing? He's telling them where the surveillance cameras are! He's telling them to disable the surveillance cameras!"

They watch as the two masked robbers disperse to destroy the cameras. The image in each frame died, until only camera one remained operational.

And then video Neal looked directly into the camera and began to blink.

"Why didn't he tell them about the main camera?" Diana asked.

"Maybe he didn't know."

"We're talking about Neal…he knew."

"I can't believe you're still defending him."

"I'm not…I just…wait did you see that?"

Peter stared closely. "Neal's blinking. So what?"

Diana moved closer to the screen. It looked as if Neal was looking directly at them, slow-motion blinking his eyes.

"It's Morse Code."

"Diana…you're reaching…"

"Boss…"

"It's just another Caffrey smoke screen to throw us off!"

"What is, this? Freaky Friday?"

Peter could only stare dumbfounded.

"Lindsay Lohan and Jamie Lee Curtis?" she said in explanation.

Peter shook his head.

"They switch places. Mom becomes the daughter…"

"…and daughter becomes the mom," Peter finished. "I get it. How does that apply here?"

"When did you quit Team Caffrey?"

"When my wife ended up in the hospital after a jewelry heist. When did you drink the Caffrey Kool-ade?"

"Boss, I know as well as you…Caffrey's a consummate liar and generally can't be trusted. But this time, I think it's different. I maybe wrong, but my gut tells me to bet on Neal. Between you and me, Peter, I wouldn't trust Caffrey with my PIN number, but I'd trust him to have my back. No matter what, he's always come through for us."

"That's pretty high praise from someone who once threatened to break both of his arms."

"Let's just say a lot of water's passed under the proverbial bridge since then. If your gut tells you Caffrey is complicit, you know I'll follow your lead. But if you want my opinion…"

"Please."

"This video is inconclusive."

"You saw what I saw. He slipped something into my wife's purse."

"So we'll pull her purse from the hospital and claim it as evidence. My gut tells me he had a reason.

"Yeah, it's called greed and entitlement! It's called criminal. Neal clearly spoke to the robbers, Diana. He protected them! He pointed out the security cameras. He helped them rob that store!"

"He misled those robbers. They thought they were free and clear, but Neal knew they were still being recorded."

"I can't believe this! You're defending him!"

"And you've got him strapped in the electric chair!"

Diana regretted the harshness of her voice. Someone who may not have known her or understood her working relationship with Peter would have decried her as disrespectful and insubordinate. But she knew Peter would understand. Still, she lowered her voice both in resonance and decibel.

"Boss, if Caffrey's guilty, I'll hold him down while you slap on the cuffs. But I think he's innocent. Wow…never thought I'd hear myself say that."

"Let's just finish the video and see where we end up."

Peter turned back to the flat screen and stared at the still slow moving images.

And then there was an eerily silent burst of smoke from the muzzle of one of the gunman's weapons…and Neal and Elizabeth fell frightfully slowly to the floor. It was like some strange ballet of, awkward and strangely beautiful, and deadly.

Peter felt his knees weaken, and could have sworn he felt the ground move under this feet…

"BOSS!"

End Chapter 2

Grateful for your time, for reading my story. If you are moved or entertained in any way, I hope you will kindly review and share. Thanks!


	3. Chapter 3

CRIMINAL

Chapter 3

By

Lacadiva

Rating: PG-13 for violence.

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me, but to Jeff Eastin and USA Network.

_Summary: Elizabeth and Neal are shot in a jewelry heist. Peter thinks Caffrey is the blame. After all, he is a criminal…_

Fonseca's Jewelers

10:30 am

Neal assessed the situation quickly, his agile brain rapidly processing information and calculating odds and possible outcomes as if he were merely watching the event, not smack in the middle of it.

But in it he was, and deeply. The pounding of his heart against in chest let him know it. More than being in trouble himself, he felt the terrible burden of responsibility for Elizabeth. How was he going to protect her? How would he keep her safe for Peter?

Looking down the barrel of a cold steel weapon was all in a day's work for Neal. As much as he hated it, he had almost grown accustomed to it. But he couldn't begin to imagine what El might be feeling. Even as the wife of an F.B.I. agent, he instinctively knew this was something she dreaded happening to her husband quite often, but rarely considered facing it herself.

Neal decided he could use the confusion of the moment to do what he did best, if he could move fast enough. Although, technically, no one could possibly consider what he was about to do as stealing. El had paid up front for the work, after all. So…

He quickly palmed the cufflinks and dropped them surreptitiously into El's partially open purse. If someone watching him closely had blinked, they would have missed the entire maneuver. Neal even managed to close the bag to secure his friend's gift inside, thereby insuring that something good might be salvaged from the mess they were in. He hoped, when all was said and done, it would be noticed, and appreciated.

Next, he effectively pushed himself in front of El, one hand gently prodding her to take cover completely behind his own body. The other hand, he thrust out in surrender and submission to the armed robbers, grabbing their complete attention and holding it firmly.

The two men, though wearing identical black ski masks, were still quite distinctly different to Neal. One man, blond hairs peaking out from under his mask, wielded a shotgun and seemed the more nervous of the two. Even so, Neal concluded he might prove to be the least dangerous. This was apparent to Neal because the gunman's finger was far from the trigger, indicating a deep desire not to fire. Neal would use this to great advantage if fate allowed.

The other one, the man with the Glock, was shorter, stockier and clearly the alpha dog of the pair. This had to be the boss as well as the so-called brains of this operation. He held his gun the way someone in a B-movie might to prove his badness. To Neal, this read as foolish and reckless, with a childish view of the situation. This made Glock exceedingly dangerous.

"Get on the floor!" Glock shouted, aggressively indicating the shiny white marble with the gun barrel, as if they needed the visual reference.

"Take it easy!" Neal shouted over them. "You're the boss. You're in charge. We'll cooperate. Nobody needs to get hurt!"

"SHUT UP!" Glock shoved the gun in Neal's face. Not exactly the result Neal had hoped for, but at least he had the gunmen's attention squarely upon himself, and not on Elizabeth or Fonseca.

Fonseca scrambled nervously and clumsily to the floor while Neal helped Elizabeth down upon the cool marble. He knew she didn't need his help. He just needed to hold onto her, hoping to communicate calm and security, hoping to let her know she could trust Neal to get them out of this dangerous situation.

Neal made a move to squat down, but then stood back up, hands still offering surrender.

"One thing," said Neal.

"I SAID ON THE FLOOR!"

"This is important…"

"Are you crazy?"

"I'M TRYING TO HELP YOU!"

"Help me?" Glock moved forward and placed cold gun metal directly against Neal's forehead. It seared his skin and made his stomach drop like a cable-cut elevator car.

"I don't need your help," Glock continued. "I need you to do as I say or I splatter your brains all over the shiny floor. You got that, slick?"

"But you need to know this…"

"WHAT?"

Neal point to the general location of camera two. "Surveillance cameras."

The hooded gunmen looked at each other.

"So?"

It was clear to Neal that there was little thought and no precision to their plan. Both were over-agitated, nervous, and too eager. First timers. Probably came up with the idea after a night of overindulgence in a smorgasborg of street-cheap mind-altering substances. Add a dash of youth, macho stupidity and an immediate need to replenish their dwindling drug stash and…viola! The knuckleheads decided to knock off random jewelry store. No casing or surveillance. No figuring out security systems or safe types. Just rush in, flash their guns, and run out with as much bling as they could stuff into the pockets of their low hanging pants.

Amateurs.

Still, Neal knew they could do massive damage unless someone took control of the situation.

Neal felt a small sense of hope. He knew they were operating on pure adrenaline and whatever diminishing drug was fueling their courage. While this made them extremely unpredictable, Neal knew he could more than likely do something to avoid bloodshed. Like being their pal.

Neal turned to Fonseca. "How many security cameras in the place, huh? Two? Three?" he yelled, knowing from the moment he stepped into the place earlier that there were four.

Fonseca looked quizzically up at Neal. "Why are you helping them?"

"Because I want to say alive. How about you?"

Neal gave the room a quick look and turned back to Glock. "I count three cameras. Knock them out you're ghosts. Cops can't arrest a ghost, right?"

The Gunmen looked to each other again. Neal couldn't see the subtlety of emotion on their faces, but he could tell something was going on. He knew they were about to take the bait.

"What do you care?" Glock asked.

"I don't," said Neal, hoping to sell it. "But I do this kind of thing for a living, so I know a thing or two."

Fonseca looked as if he'd been further violated. "You sunnova…"

El pushed up on her elbows. "Shut up!" she shouted to the jeweler, then to her captives, she said, "It's true. Neal just did four years at Rykers for theft and bond forgery."

"EL!" Neal shouted, terrified. So long as El stayed quiet and out of it, he had a better chance of getting her out of there, under their radar, unnoticed. Now, she had been noticed.

"I'm just trying to help," she said.

"Quiet! Just be quiet!" Neal said, harsher than he meant to, sharper than he had ever spoken to her before. He hoped she understood that he was trying to protect her. If not, they'd work it out later, if they made it out alive.

Neal took a step forward, knowing it might cause the more volatile of the pair to over react, but needing to reclaim their undivided attention.

"Look, time is getting short. You can start smashing and grabbing and you'll be out of here long before the cops are even notified. Make ten, maybe twenty thousand dollars easy."

Neal could have sworn he heard Shotgun giggle at the mention of the money.

"Or…"

"Or what?" Glock asked.

"Nothing."

"Or WHAT?"

"OR…you could score big. Really big. Make it count."

The gunmen looked at each other, then back to Neal.

"First things first. Kill the cameras. There are three of them, there…" Neal pointed, "…by the door and in the back."

Neal looked directly into camera one, the one closest to them, concealed in the light fixture; the one he deliberately neglected to tell the gunmen about. And he blinked. Morse code. Two words: _Save us._

"Do it," Glock said to Shotgun, who instantly went about the quick business of destroying the cameras with the butt of his rifle. What Shotgun didn't consider in his haste to destroy was his proximity to the lens as he pounded his weapon against the mechanism. This would give the police and FBI a nice convenient close up before the image died.

As soon as the first camera was destroyed, Shotgun moved on to the other two before returning to Glock's side, panting excitedly, ecstatic after his destructive frenzy.

"Awesome," he said breathlessly to his cohort, who elbowed him hard for his temporary loss of badness.

"Now you're playing smart," said Neal, bringing their attention back to him. "Now you can't be identified."

"Okay. What's next, Slick?" Glock asked.

Neal smiled. His impromptu plan was working perfectly. They were beginning to trust him. Put themselves in his hands.

"The safe," Neal said conspiratorially. "It's in the back."

"No!" Fonseca cried.

Glock raced across the floor before Neal even realized what was happening. The gunman grabbed Fonseca by the collar, brought him up from the floor and smashed his weapon hard against Fonseca's head. The jeweler hit the ground and lay still and quiet.

"Stop!" Elizabeth cried.

Glock aimed his weapon at El.

"NO NO NO!" Neal shouted. He needed to grab back control, make it look as if he held some sway over Elizabeth. Maybe the gunmen would leave it him to handle her. And they'd make it out alive.

"This is not a game!" he screamed at El. "You lie there, keep your mouth shut and don't even look at them!" Then, more softly, "Please."

"Let me help you, Neal," she whispered.

Neal shook his head. "Stay down. Keep still."

He turned back to his captors and smiled, hoping to communicated his successful "handling" of the situation. He prayed they believed him.

"Just keep your mouth shut, and eyes down," Neal reiterated to drive his point home, reinstate his position of control, "and you'll be out of here before your nails dry, fancy."

Shotgun laughed and prodded his partner. "Fancy," Shotgun repeated, then went into the rap, the poor, rhythm-deficient hoodlum trying to imitate the video he'd probably seen a million times before.

"_Oh you fancy, huh_

_oh you fancy, huh, _

_nail done, hair done, everything done…"_

Glock slapped the back of Shotgun's head hard, and they both turned their weapons on each other in blind anger.

"Guys!" Neal shouted, his blood running cold. This was the kind of out-of-control behavior that could get them all killed. "C'mon! Back to business!"

"You don't tell me what to do," Glock said, turning angrily to Neal.

"I'm on your side," Neal said, hands returning to a position of surrender.

"I don't need you or nobody on my side! You shut up and kiss the floor or I put you down."

"Whatever you say," said Neal. He started easing his way to the floor.

Shotgun gave Glock a shove.

"Dude's just trying to help."

"Screw you! We're wasting time!" shouted Glock. He used the butt of his weapon to smash a glass display case into dust and instantly started shoving ladies' watches covered in sparkling bling into his pocket. Shotgun followed suit.

"Don't forget the safe!" Neal shouted quickly.

Glock stopped smashing to turn back to Neal. "Screw the safe. I knocked out the only guy who could open it!"

"No you didn't," said Neal. "I crack safes. And the one in the back…I can have it opened and all that cash and all those diamonds…more than what you'll find out here…filling your pockets in under two minutes."

Glock stopped to consider. "How much would that be?"

"Half a mil. At least."

Now Shotgun stopped. "Dude, did he just say a half a mil?"

"Get up," said Glock.

Neal happily complied. He fought not show his momentary pleasure.

He would lure them to the back…

He'd keep fully occupied, drooling over the possibility of untold, incalculable riches from the safe. While that was happening, El could sneak out, quickly call 911 and send a quick text to Peter to send the cavalry.

Elizabeth would be safe.

He would not only managed to save the day, but he'd also make sure there was more than enough DNA and physical evidence to build a solid case and convict them, taking the gunmen off the streets for good.

It would have been a good plan.

"You! Fancy!" Glock shouted at Elizabeth, "c'mon, you get up, too!"

Neal couldn't breathe. This was not good. This was not the plan.

Neal stepped in front of Elizabeth as she rose and raised his hands again. He saw his digits trembling, giving away his terror.

"We don't need her. She's not a problem," he said nervously, hoping they could not hear the shaking in his voice. "She's under control." To Elizabeth, he asked, "Right?"

"It's okay, Neal…" she said breathily.

"No…"

"She's insurance," said Glock. "You don't open the safe, we put a bullet in her fancy head."

"Please!" The word slipped from Neal before he could stop himself. Switching gears quickly, he then said, "Listen," hoping he sounded calm, in control. "Listen…you…"

"NO, YOU listen!" Glock was determined. "I don't know who the hell you think you are, acting like you know me, like you're my friend, but I don't know you, and you're not my friend!" 

"Yeah," Shotgun chimed in. "How do you know so much, smart guy?"

"I told you…it's what I do. I'm a thief. I even walked out of a maximum security prison."

"You…in prison? Right…" Glock laughed. "If you was in the joint, you'd be a chew toy to every dog on the block."

"It's true!" Elizabeth shouted. "He walked out of Ryker's like he owned the place."

"El, please, I beg you…"

"His name is Neal Caffrey. He was on the FBI most wanted list for four years!"

"I ain't never heard of you," Glock said.

"Google me later," said Neal. "Right now, there's a safe in the back with crammed with cash and jewels, and I'm the only one who knows how what he's doing."

"Let him do it!" Shotgun begged his partner. "C'mon…what've we got to lose?"

Neal took a bold step forward. "One condition," he said. "Let her go."

"No way," Shotgun whined. "She'll go straight to the cops!" 

"No I won't!" El said quickly.

"I swear she won't!" said Neal. "She's on the list, too. The FBI most wanted list. If they knew she was anywhere near a jewelry store right now…"

"…they'd lock me up and throw away the key!" she finished, and found it easy to smile through the lie.

"Why don't I just kill you both and we can get back to business?"

"Okay, look!" Neal said quickly, adrenaline pumping hard through him, over-nourishing his heart and brain until the instinct to fight or flee was overwhelming.

"She's a wanted fugitive. We were robbing the store ourselves before you walked in and screwed everything up."

"Yeah," El said, hoping she sounded tough.

"She's not going to cops or she'll be implicating herself."

Shotgun considered it.

"So you're a bad girl, huh Fancy?"

"The baddest," said El.

Shotgun seemed to be noticing Elizabeth for the first time. He let his eyes rove, wander and linger. Even under the black ski mask, it was easy to imagine the lascivious look on his slacker face. He could almost feel El cringe internally, and feared what Peter might do to this Cretan if he ever knew.

"That's enough," said Neal, in a deep low voice that he hoped would break Shotgun's mood.

"What did you say to me?"

Now it was Neal's turn to cringe.

"Look, let her go. We're wasting time."

And then they heard it. Sirens. In the distance. Getting closer. All froze as if waiting to see who was going to make the first move.

Neal moved first.

He grabbed El by the shoulders and pushed her simultaneously behind the counter and to the floor.

Gunfire. Four shots. One bullet found glass and shattered it into powder bits.

A second bullet grazed El's upper arm, just barely touch her skin and leaving a burnt and bloody smudge that horrified Neal and made El cry out.

The last two bullets found warm flesh and hard bone and made Neal grit his teeth and grunt twice before his body slammed to the floor, all his weight landing atop Elizabeth.

She wasn't moving. All Neal could think of was that El wasn't moving.

He heard panicked voices shouting as if from the bottom of a deep stone well. The words he could not discern but the sentiment was clear. There was fear and frenzy. The gunmen had made a choice from which there was no turning back.

Neal could hear scuffling and glass breaking. He could only assume that the gunmen had chosen to make the trip worth their while by smashing and grabbing what little they could before the cops arrived. In a moment, they were gone.

Neal was adrift in an ocean of hurt. Fire had invaded his body, torn through his flesh and ripped muscle to shreds. Every breath, every move caused pain. Still, he pulled himself into an awkward sitting position, the best way he could, crying out with every movement, feeling cold creeping in and rattling his frame. He used what small bit of strength he had left to pull Elizabeth to him and hold her.

"El…" he said, and felt the coppery surge of blood rushing to his mouth. He couldn't tell if his friend's wife…his friend El…was dead or alive. Neal coughed once and spat, still aware enough to hope he had not managed to ruin El's dress with the crimson spray.

He shook, his face contorting into a mask of pain-filled misery as hot tears streamed to the corners of his mouth and thinly diluted the blood that stained his lips.

"So…Sor…sorry…" he said.

And then he folded to the floor. Blood – life – slowly but steadily seeped out and began pooling under him, around him. He could feel it, but he couldn't stop it.

He thought of Mozzie…would he know how much he considered him family?

And June…would she know how much she meant to him? How grateful he was for everything she did for him?

And Peter…would he know how much he respected him? Admired him? Or how hard he had tried to save El? Or would he only see the evidence of his failure? He saw Peter's disapproving face in his fading memory…Peter holding a gold coin…Peter coming toward him with handcuffs and a disdainful scowl. And it made him shudder.

"You're a criminal…and you can't help yourself…shame on me for expecting anything else…"

"I did it…for y….you…"

Neal reached out and found Elizabeth's hand. At least, he thought, as he slipped into unconsciousness, he wouldn't die alone.

And then the sirens stopped.

End Chapter 3

_Thank you for all the generous and encouraging responses to this story so far. I'm especially encouraged by the insistence that I finish it! So…I bow to your wishes. One more chapter after this. And it's already written. I'll post it in another day or so. If any part of this story moves you at all, I hope you'll feel prompted to leave a review. You're a rockin' audience, and once again I thank you!_


	4. Chapter 4

CRIMINAL

Chapter 4

By

Lacadiva

Rating: PG-13 for violence.

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me, but to Jeff Eastin and USA Network.

_Summary: Elizabeth and Neal are shot in a jewelry heist. Peter thinks Caffrey is the blame. After all, he is a criminal…_

_This is the final chapter. Thanks for sticking with it to the end. _

~WC~

"_Peter!"_

Diana was instantly at his side, holding onto him, steering Peter toward a chair.

"I'm fine!"

"You nearly passed out!"

"I did not!" Peter said in his defense. "I just…lost my footing."

He'd just seen Neal and El fall victim to the gunmen in slow motion video…_saw them get shot…_he wanted to say, but the words were unspeakable, the idea unthinkable. In what strange, _bizarro_ world could something like this happen? The unreality of it all was more than his mind could bear.

A few seconds later someone was placing a paper cup of water to his paling lips, while another agent slapped a cold and sopping wet paper towel upon his forehead. A half dozen other agents had filled the conference room as well, hoping to help, or at least get a glimpse of what all the commotion was about.

"This isn't necessary!" Peter shouted. "I'm fine." He moved to his feet but immediately felt the floor undulate under him again. He returned to the chair and held on to the armrests for support.

"Diana, get them out of here," Peter whispered conspiratorially to his most trusted agent.

"Everybody out!" Diana cried and every agent complied. "Boss, you're dehydrated," she said to Peter when the room was clear. "You have eaten in hours. And you're upset."

"I'm fine, Diana."

"You don't have to be. Not for me."

Peter instantly relaxed into the chair and allowed the depression he felt deep within to show upon his face.

"You saw it," said Peter. "El…and Neal…"

Diana nodded.

"I gotta get back to the hospital. Elizabeth needs me. She must be traumatized…"

Diana stopped Peter again, holding him down in the chair as the agent tried to rise.

"Not so fast," she said. "El's fine. You said it yourself. The doctors said her injuries were minor."

"She needs me. I should've been there for her. I should've prevented this. If Caffrey was still in prison, none of this would've happened." 

"So that's it."

"So what's what?" 

"Caffrey. You're not just mad at him because of what happened. You're also mad at yourself for letting Caffrey become such a big part of your life."

"If I needed a psych evaluation, I'll ask a real professional."

Diana was done. She straightened, regarded her boss with a blank expression, and then headed for the door.

"Diana!"

She stopped short and turned back to Peter.

"If Neal dies, and you find out after the fact that he wasn't responsible for this, I know what it's going to do to you. You're Peter Burke, the Archeologist. When you can't find the truth, you keep digging until you do. What's so different about this case?

"You're more than a boss to me, Peter. I consider you a friend. So as a friend, I suggest you do some digging. Neal is a criminal…I'll give you that. But what you're doing…_this_ is criminal."

Peter watch through the glass walls as Diana nearly ran down the stairs to her own desk where she sat and rested her weary head upon her hands.

Peter drew in a deep breath and felt his gut clench. He knew there was truth to her words. Neal had always been more than a CI, far more than he should have been to Peter, even to El.

Neal knew things about Peter and his wife few others had privy. He confided in Neal. El confided in him.

They were stake out buddies. Drinking buddies. When the two of them worked a case there was a _frisson_ in the air, a crackle of creativity that was undeniable and priceless. But it extended well beyond the office. Caffrey was a favored houseguest. Heck, he even had his own personal set of Egyptian cotton towels (a birthday gift from El), favorite sheets for the couch, and the Burkes always kept an extra toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet and a couple Cornish hens in the freezer in case he dropped by unexpectedly.

How could Neal betray him after everything?

Or had he?

Peter eased up from the chair and waited to see if his legs could carry him. And when the limbs did not buckle or weaken, he grabbed his coat and left.

~WC~

New York Presbyterian Hospital

6:05 pm

"Where is my wife?" Peter demanded.

He could feel the heat of his blood rushing to his face, migrating to his head and causing it to ache, and imagined he looked nothing short of hysterical.

The Nurse at the station was professional to a fault, unruffled by the bellowing agent.

"Calm down, sir," she said with practiced indifference.

"I won't calm down," Peter bit back. "Not until you tell me why her room is empty!"

Every button Peter had had been pushed throughout the course of this most unholy, unhappy day. Now Elizabeth was gone, her room empty. Had her head injury been worse than the doctors had originally diagnosed? Was he too late? He could not bear to take yet another hit in the gut.

"My wife..." he said more quietly this time. "…is she…? Is she…?

"She's fine," the Nurse said, not even bothering to blink, but offered a thin, seemingly tolerant smile that Peter suspected had nothing to do with putting up with the likes of him.

"Her doctor cleared her for discharge. She didn't want to wait in her room – like she was supposed to – but insisted on going to ICU to visit your friend."

"Thank you," Peter said as he exhaled, his anger at the nurse quenched as a new focus claimed his rage.

Why would she go and see Neal, after everything that had happened? Perhaps to give him a substantial piece of her mind, he mused.

Peter made his way down to ICU, noticing little but the icy chill of the hard-working air conditioner and the rage throbbing between his ears, the beating of his heart, and the sick-sour feeling of angst deep in his belly.

He ignored the hospital's sacred rule of one person at a time in ICU and sipped quietly inside the unit.

Monitors were loud, thrumming and humming, beeping and chirping, while Neal lay prone, still, and pale as the dead. Deep dark circles lurked under Neal's eyes, and there were still crusts of his own dried blood showing darkly under his fingernails.

Peter stared at the back of Elizabeth, who was sitting by Neal's bed, holding Neal's chalk-white hand, whispering to him. Jealously rose up like a wave and crashed against Peter's good sense. He stood still, hoping that Elizabeth had not detected his stealthy entrance, hoping to surreptitiously hear what words she had for his fallen CI.

"…whatever you might believe, Neal, it's not your fault. None of this. You can't take responsibility for what happened. If you hadn't been there, I shudder to think what those two might have done to me."

She looked over her shoulder, just a bit, her way of telling Peter that she knew he was there. She continued.

"Peter's angry, but he doesn't know. Deep down in his heart, in his gut, I think he wants to trust you more than anything. It's hard for him. He's not naturally trusting. You're the only person in the world, other than me, that's ever made it that close to his heart. So you have to hold on. Give him a chance to see the truth. You have to wake up, though. You have to wake up so you can tell him the story."

Done, she looked over her shoulder directly into her husband's eyes.

"Hi, hon," she said.

"Hi, hon," he replied, his voice breaking in a way he wished it hadn't.

She turned back to Neal. "Peter's here."

Elizabeth noticed that the heart monitor seemed to respond with a quickened chirp to her words, and wondered if it were merely a coincidence.

"El, c'mon," said Peter quietly. "Let's get you home."

She made no move, but reached out to gently stroke dark, sweat-slicked hair from Neal's forehead.

"Not yet," she said sweetly, then whispered to her husband, in the hopes Neal would not hear, "I need to say goodbye, just in case…"

"He'll be fine," Peter stated flatly.

"And you know this because…?"

"Because Neal's always fine. He always bounces back. Nothing ever sticks."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Depends," he said. "Do you remember anything yet?"

"I do," she said with a nod.

"How much?"

"Everything, I think."

"That's great, hon. We'll need to get a statement from you, but it can wait until morning. Let's get you home and…"

"No."

El stood and turned to her husband. The sleeveless dress she wore was stained with dried blood, both hers and Neal's. Peter reached out to touch the thick gauze bandage wrapped around her arm and shuddered.

She took a step closer and offered her lips. He accepted and bent to kiss his wife, lightly at first, as if she were made of some delicate matter, and them more deeply, and felt his life for the moment restored. It almost didn't registered that she had refused his request for a statement. Almost.

"Sweetheart, it's not like you can refuse. You're a material witness to a crime. You don't have a choice."

"You think Neal's responsible, don't you?"

"I saw the surveillance footage. I saw…"

"Then you saw it wrong. Peter…talk to Neal. He's your friend. He needs you. Help him out of this. Help him back. Or he may not make it back."

Peter took a big, ragged breath. He didn't want to argue. But El needed to know the truth.

"El…Neal is a criminal…"

"He _was_ a criminal…"

"He does what he does because he can't help it. It's not just what he is, it's who he is. People get hurt because of him. And while he shakes it off and smiles his way out of one situation after another, the rest of us are left to deal with the damage. It's not my job to help him out. It's my job to put him away. For good."

"You think he set up the robbery?"

"I do."

"And you think he used me as some kind of cover?"

"Yes."

"Lured me there…"

"Is that what happened?"

"Neal was there because I asked him to meet me there."

"What? Why?"

El said nothing, but folder her arms across her chest. She stepped aside, and Peter knew that this gesture meant he should take the chair she had only just vacated.

"You want my statement? Talk to Neal first."

"He's unconscious."

"He can still hear you. Sweetheart, when did you start doubting his loyalty to you?"

"When I walked into a jewelry store and found my wife unconscious and bleeding on the floor. When I realized I had brought someone into our lives whose level of honesty is as flexible as a rubber band. I liked him…I trusted him. And almost lost you as consequence."

"The only reason I'm standing in front of you right now is because of Neal. I would've been in that jewelry store one way or the other. Without him there, standing between me and those gunmen, who knows what would've happened. It wouldn't have been good!" 

"What are saying? That he took a bullet for you?"

"No, babe…he took _two_ bullets. And not just for me. For you. Neal knows what I mean to you. He knows. I owe him. And so do you."

El reached for her purse sitting on the floor next to the chair, and moved toward the door.

"You want the details, I'll tell you everything. _After_ you've talked to him. I'll be waiting for you outside."

Peter, still unconvinced, stopped her, grabbing her by the arm.

"I'll need your purse."

"What? Why?"

"Evidence."

"Evidence? Of what? What are you talking about?"

"Open it."

"Peter, what…?"

"Open your purse and look inside."

El pulled away and took a step back. She opened her bag and peered inside, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. She reached in to be sure, moving aside her cell phone, favorite red lip-gloss, her wallet…

"Oh! Oh my gosh…Neal…!"

"Neal," Peter repeated.

"I can't believe it…"

"I know…this is the crux of everything, I'm telling you…"

"In all that confusion…"

"He stole."

"No, sweetheart…"

Elizabeth reached into her bag and pulled out the set of gold antique handcuffs and stared at them.

"I bet," she said smiling wide, eyes filling with tears, "if he could've, he'd have found a way to wrap them. You think he stole these, don't you?"

"It's on the store surveillance video. I saw him palm them and slip them into your purse, making you an unwitting accomplice."

"How can he steal something that's already been paid for?"

Peter regarded his wife quizzically.

She held out the cufflinks to Peter, who opened a hand to accept them.

"Happy anniversary, hon…albeit a few days early."

He stared at the cuffs for a moment, as if nothing made sense. Until he looked closer.

"My grandfather's…! You found the match? Where? I lost it years ago, back when we first got married!"

"I know, hon," she said with a loving smile. "It's a replica. I commissioned Mr. Fonseca to create a match for the cufflink, and restore the other. I paid for the work up front weeks ago.

"Neal didn't steal them. He saved them from being stolen by those two freaks in ski masks."

Peter could not stop staring at the two gold pieces in his hands.

"But Neal was there…"

"…at my request. I begged him to meet me there, to offer his expertise. To see if he could tell the original from the replica."

"How'd he do?" Peter asked quietly, shame beginning to overwhelm him. "Could he tell the difference?"

"He said he could, but it took a while. He said it was good work."

"It is…" Peter dropped his head and shook it.

"Hon…?" El ventured, taking a small step toward her husband.

"I need a minute."

Peter pushed through the ICU door and headed down the hall.

~WC~

She found him twenty minutes later standing just outside. The evening cold made goose flesh of her arms and caused her to shiver. She had no coat, no sweater; just what she had worn when they admitted her to the hospital earlier.

Elizabeth stood behind her husband and wrapped her arms around him.

"They kicked me out," El said. "No more visitors for Neal until morning. Nothing left to do but to go home."

Peter said nothing.

"I can make a statement tonight if you want."

Peter shook his head. "I should get you home. You've had a helluva day."

"So have you," she said, and squeezed her man a little harder.

"You're freezing." Peter pulled away and slipped his coat off his shoulders, then placed it around his wife as he hugged her again.

"I'm taking you home and putting you to bed," Peter said, kissing the top of his wife's head. "And I'm going to keep you there until I'm certain you're a hundred per cent."

"Sounds promising," she said coquettishly.

"You can make your statement tomorrow. Tonight, I want to take care of my wife."

"You always take care of me."

"I want to hold you in my arms, and thank God you're alive. I want to give you everything you need, anything you want, and all things in between. I want to dote on you, wait on you, and cater to your every whim."

"Oh, I love my husband…."

~WC~

New York Presbyterian

Four days later

"Hey."

Neal opened his red-rimmed eyes to find Peter standing at his bedside.

"Hey."

Neal managed a weak smile. His mouth was dry and his body didn't feel like it was his own, so filled with pain meds was he. But he was better, each day a little bit better.

"You look chipper," Peter said as he sat down.

"Escaping death does wonders for the demeanor."

"Does it hurt much?"

"Some. But they've got great meds. How's Elizabeth?"

"Aw, she's great. I spent a couple days at home with her, breakfast in bed, lunch in bed, dinner in bed. And this morning she kicked me out so she could have some time to herself. Women."

"Yeah." Then, "I'm glad she's okay, Peter."

"Thanks, in no small part, to you. So I'm told."

A long beat of silence passed between them. Neal stared at the ceiling while Peter stared at the floor.

"Nurses treating you all right?" Peter asked.

"Yeah."

"Nice room. You got lucky…private room."

"Somebody must have tipped the reception nurse."

"Wasn't me."

Silence filled the room again, as if it were another person that stood between Peter and Neal.

"I blamed you for everything," Peter said finally.

"Peter…"

"Let me…"

Peter shifted in the chair, wringing his hands together, fumbling with his tie, picking away non-existent stray hairs and lint from his jacket sleeve as he tried to knit together the right words.

"I blamed you for El being hurt."

"She's okay, right?" Neal asked, deeply concerned. "You said she was okay."

"She got a bit of a bump on her head. GSW to the arm…just a graze. Won't leave much of a scar, according to the doctors."

"But she'll have a lifetime of bragging rights," Neal said with a smile that quickly faded when he noticed the still-serious look on Peter's face.

"I'm sorry, Peter. I did everything I could to keep her safe."

"Neal…"

"I tried…"

"Neal! Would you let me finish? I blamed you…"

"Why wouldn't you? She's your wife. And I'm a criminal."

Peter sat back and exhaled deeply.

"You heard me?"

"I did. Some of it. Most of it. For the record, I would've come to the same conclusion if I were in your shoes."

"Neal…I'm trying to say I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"The two robbers were caught last night. Jones got a statement from the security guard, who wasn't in on the robbery at all, as it turns out. He had is own little operation going. He'd already stolen most of the contents of the safe and was trying to leave the country, not to mention is wife and kids, with a very blond companion in tow. Mr. Fonseca had no idea so many hands were in his till."

"Poor guy. How's he doing?"

"Concussion. Lost a tooth. He'll survive. I have a feeling he might be leaving the jewelry business."

"Can't say that I blame him."

Peter catapulted from the chair and began pacing anxiously.

"Peter…"

"Shut up, let me say this. I crossed over into a very, very dark place. El was lying there on that cold floor…next to you…bleeding…I lost it. I lost my objectivity, and I never once gave you the benefit of the doubt. It was a blind rage…I couldn't even see what was right in front of my face. I lost it."

"No one could blame you for that, Peter. You're right. I am a criminal. I've done terrible things without pity or remorse for my victims, I've lived a life of entitlement…"

"Neal…just…shut up. I'm not done."

"Peter…"

"Shhh!"

Peter took a couple awkward steps and stopped.

"Elizabeth is my blind spot. When it comes to her… If she had died…"

Peter stopped to compose himself, to steady himself.

"Instead of digging for the truth, I took everything at face value. I doubted you. I doubted your friendship, your loyalty."

"I'm a criminal."

"Yes, you are. But you're also my friend. You took two bullets to save El's life. And no matter what happens between us in the future, I will never, never forget that. So…"

Peter quickly wiped tears from his eyes, pretending they were never there.

Neal looked away. He couldn't let Peter see the redness or the wetness in his own eyes.

"You know I'd do it again, Peter."

"Just…do me a favor and stay out of situations that make you have to."

"Promise."

Peter returned to the chair and sat. Silence returned but for only a beat.

"You liked the cuff links?" asked Neal.

"Oh, yeah," Peter said, and showed them off, pulling up his jacket sleeve to reveal his grandfather's heirlooms attached to the cuffs of his perfectly pressed linen shirt.

Neal raised an eyebrow. "Nice."

Peter smiled. "Yeah. See? You're not the only one who can look fancy."

"Please don't use that word again."

"What, fancy?"

"That's the one."

"Why not?"

"Long story. Ask El. She'll tell you."

"I'm not sure I like the idea of you and my wife knowing things I don't know about."

Neal laughed. "Keeps you on your toes."

"Look, I better get back to work."

"Yeah, I'm getting a little tired anyway."

"I'll come back later. Check up on you."

"I'm not going anywhere," Neal said, indicating the IVs attached to his arm and the back of his hand.

"Want me to bring you one of those French bistro sandwich things you like so much? Maybe a little duck confit salad?"

"Maybe in a couple of days. I'm still trying to keep Jell-O down."

Peter nodded and headed for the door.

Something stopped him. He came back into the room and stood right by the bed, and offered Neal his right hand.

Neal, though weak, took Peter's hand firmly. They shook. The Agent's palm was warm, slightly calloused. Neal fought to keep his emotions in check, to keep his bottom lip from quivering. He cursed the weakness caused by his injury, as if that were the reason it was so difficult to keep a dry eye.

"Thank you," said Peter.

"No need to…"

"Thank you," Peter said more emphatically.

"Anytime."

Peter nodded, a crooked smile playing at his lips. Once they let go, Peter turned quickly and left the room.

"Hey! Peter! I'll take a cro-nut! If you happen by that bakery," Neal called out, hoping Peter heard him.

He lay back on his pillow and dreamed of Italian roast coffee and sweet croissant/donut hybrids shared between good friends.

THE END.

_Thanks again for reading, and for seeing the story all the way through. If "Criminal" moved you at all, my hope is you will kindly consider reviewing it. Thanks again. Until the next story._

_Lacadiva._


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